


They Grew Up Heroes

by JJ1564



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Character Death, Prompt Fic, Protective Bobby Singer, Saving People Hunting Things, Supernatural Summergen Fic Exchange, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ1564/pseuds/JJ1564
Summary: Based on this awesome prompt from jennytork -"I adopted two boys and they grew up great. They grew up to be heroes." What if Bobby had adopted them decades earlier than after John's canon death? What if, after the Shtriga attack, Bobby sent John away at the end of a shotgun but kept the boys?”Bobby adopts Sam and Dean, giving them a home and his gruff love, changing their lives for the better. But none of them can escape the demon that killed Mary and wants Sam.





	1. I Adopted Two Boys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jennytork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennytork/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John leaves his boys in the care of Bobby.

“Get the hell off my property,” Bobby growled, pointing his shotgun at John Winchester. He couldn’t rightly say how it had gotten to this. John was a friend, but he was also a surly son-of-a-bitch and often more drill sergeant than father to his boys. Seeing him yell at Dean just because he was a little slow in carrying out their bags to the car had made Bobby see red. Dean was a good kid, smart, kind and brave.

Yet nothing he ever did seemed to be good enough for John, who had dumped the boys on Bobby a few weeks earlier because, in John’s words, “Dean had messed up a Shtriga hunt.”

“I’m goin’, before either of us does something we’ll regret,” John snarled. “An’ if you think you’d do a better job at playing Daddy, go ahead.” He climbed into the Impala and slammed the door.

Bobby and Dean watched in shock as the car sped off into the distance. Bobby put down the shotgun and pulled off his baseball cap to run a hand through his thinning hair.

“Well, I’ll be...” he muttered.

“He ain’t coming back, is he?” Dean’s voice sounded far too resigned for a ten-year-old.

“Yeah, he’ll be back, kiddo.” Bobby smiled at the boy, and was alarmed to see his big green eyes filling with tears.

“It’s my fault, m-my fault you argued, my fault Dad left us here, ‘cause I-I messed up...”

“Hey, Dean, none of this is your fault.” Bobby knelt so he was level with him. “You listen to me, okay?” Dean nodded and a tear spilled down his cheek. Bobby reached out and wiped it away with his thumb.

“Me an’ your Daddy, well, we butt heads, ‘cause we’re both stubborn and cantankerous.”

“What’s cantankerous mean, Uncle Bobby?”

“Well, it means kinda tetchy, argumentative, crabby,” Bobby explained, and Dean nodded solemnly. “Thing is, we both care about you boys, but I don’t always see eye to eye with him about how he’s raisin’ you. He should never have blamed you for what happened to Sammy...”

“But it was my fault, I left him alone, just for a little while,” Dean looked guilt-ridden and was sobbing now. “I just n-needed some air, I w-was...”

“Dean, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Bobby grasped Dean’s skinny shoulders. “You’re just a kid. Your Daddy shouldn’t have left you and Sammy alone in the first place.”

“Sammy’s my responsibility.” Dean said, and Bobby could see John’s stubborn streak in him right there.

“You and Sam are children, you’re both your father’s responsibility.” Bobby sighed. “C’mon, let’s go and rustle up something for dinner. How’s mac ‘n’ cheese sound?”

“It’s Sammy’s favorite.” Dean wiped his eyes with his hands.

“There might be some ice cream left for dessert.” Bobby stood up and threw his arm around Dean’s thin shoulders. “How’s that sound, kiddo?”

“Great, thanks, Uncle Bobby.” Dean managed a sad smile.

“Don’t thank me, you’ll be the one washing the dishes.” Bobby ruffled Dean’s hair and got a slightly happier smile in return.

Sam was still curled up on the sofa, watching a cartoon on Bobby’s battered old tv. “Has Daddy gone away again?” he asked when he saw Dean.

“Yeah, Sammy. He had to go to work,” Dean reassured his little brother.

“I heard some yellin’. Is...is Daddy mad with you, Uncle Bobby?” Sam looked up at Bobby.

“Kinda, we had a disagreement,” Bobby replied.

“Daddy gets mad with Dean sometimes,” Sam told him. “An’ sometimes he gets mad with me, but s’usually Dean he yells at. I don’t like it when Daddy yells at Dean.”

“Daddy works hard, Sammy, and gets tired.” Dean squashed onto the sofa right next to Sam. “He don’t mean to upset you.”

As Dean defended his father, Bobby wondered how many times the boy had acted as a buffer between John and Sam. How many times he’d made excuses for John. How many times he had reassured and comforted the younger boy. John had put far too much weight on Dean’s shoulders.

“Is Daddy gonna come back?” Sam asked, his bottom lip trembling.

“Yeah, of course he is, Sammy.” Dean hugged Sam against his side. “An’ Uncle Bobby’s gonna make us mac ‘n’ cheese...”

“Yippee!” Sam jiggled up and down in excitement. It was easy to distract a six-year-old.

 

Bobby waited until the boys were in bed later that night before pouring himself a large whiskey and calling a few hunters he knew. He told them all the same thing – if you see John Winchester, get him to call me immediately. It was Ellen Harvelle, Bill’s wife, who wanted more information.

“What’s wrong, Bobby? Why d’you need John? Are his boys with you? Are they okay?”

Bobby wasn’t the type of guy to be disloyal, so he told a white lie. “His boys are with me, it’s all fine, I just needed to know if he wanted me to enroll them in school while they’re here, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” Ellen huffed. “Was John being a dick again?”

“John’s always a dick, Ellen.” Bobby laughed. “How’s the family?”

“Bill’s away on a job, Joanna Beth’s growing like a weed.”

“Great. Well, if you hear from John...”

“Sure, Bobby. Take care of yourself, and those sweet boys of his.”

Bobby sat back and stared down at his whiskey tumbler. Had John really meant what he said? That he was done, that he wanted Bobby to take care of Dean and Sam? Bobby was conflicted. He loved those boys, felt very protective of them, and loved having them stay for a few days, a week or two. But having them here full time, being responsible for them – well, that was a whole other ball game. His house wasn’t really geared up for kids, and the junkyard was full of potential hazards.

Yet the boys seemed to be at home here – little Sammy loved books and would spend hours looking at the pictures in books he couldn’t possibly understand and probably shouldn’t have seen. Dean loved cars and would happily watch Bobby fix them up, and beamed in delight whenever Bobby gave him a little job to do; he also loved to wash and polish the cars Bobby had fixed up to sell until they gleamed.

He sighed, thinking of how much Karen would have loved these two little lost boys. She would have given them the mothering they both sorely needed. Especially Dean. That boy worried Bobby. He had taken on so much, practically raising Sam, as John was too lost in his own world to take care of them.

“What the fuck, John!” Bobby muttered to himself. “You may not be father of the year, but your boys need you. They’ve lost their mother, don’t make them lose you too, you selfish bastard. Dean blames himself for this, d’you know that? They’re great kids, John. They deserve better than being dumped here with me. You fucking son-of-a-bitch, what the fuck have you gotten me into?”

Bobby felt a little better for getting that off his chest, and no one ever needed to know that he talked to himself. He checked on the boys before going to bed; they were both in the same bed, fast asleep, with Dean’s arm curled around Sam and Sam’s head on Dean’s shoulder.

“G’night, boys.” Bobby whispered.

 

The first year was damned hard. Dean moped a lot, got into fights at school and bunked off whenever he could. Bobby knew he was having a hard time settling down, he’d been on the road most of his life and was worried about his Dad. But when Bobby got called in to see the Principal, he had to lay the law down. Once Dean realized that his actions could result in him, and possibly Sam, being taken away from Bobby and placed into foster care, he stopped picking fights, his attendance was good and he even started making friends. Bobby knew it was the thought of being apart from Sam that had terrified Dean, even more than the thought of letting Bobby down.

Sam was fine, just as long as Dean was around. He sometimes got upset and asked when would Daddy be back; Dean would give him a hug or ruffle his hair and tell him Daddy would be back as soon as he could, and that satisfied Sam, although Bobby could tell Dean hated having to lie to him. Yep, Sam was an easy kid - give him a pile of books and something new to learn, and he was as happy as a pig in shit. It was no surprise that he loved going to school, and was doing exceptionally well.

John came back just once that first year, an unannounced visit, two days after Sam’s seventh birthday. He had an Action Man for Sam and a crossbow for Dean, as he’d missed his birthday, too. Both boys were pleased to see him, although Dean was quiet and seemed anxious. John stayed for dinner and it was when he stood up to leave that it all came to a head.

“Dad, should...should I pack our things?” Dean asked, hesitant and hopeful.

“No.” John retorted abruptly, and Dean looked like he’d been punched.

“But I don’t wanna go!” Sam protested, not having registered that his Dad had already said no. “I like my school an’ my teacher, an’ not staying in smelly motel rooms...”

“That’s enough, Sam,” John rebuked, adding, “Listen to me, boys - I’m not taking you with me.”

It obviously took all of Dean’s strength not to break down and cry, and not to beg his Dad to take them with him. Conversely, Sam couldn’t contain his joy, his face beaming.

“I’ve realized life on the road’s not good for you. You need stability, and you need to go to school regularly.” Then he said something Bobby would never forgive him for. “An’ you just slow me down. I don’t miss you getting’ in my way, or bickering and whining in the back seat.”

Dean’s bottom lip trembled, making Sam leap to his brother’s defense.

“We never got in the way.” He scowled at his father. “Dean looked after me so you could go out to work, an’ he’s the bestest brother in the world. I hate you, an’ I’m pleased we get to stay with Uncle Bobby.”

“You mind your tone, Sam,” John growled and a lesser boy would’ve backed down.

“No, ‘cause you upset Dean, and you’re always mean to him.”

“I’m not arguing with a child,” John said, then went on to disprove that. “And I’m not mean to him, but if Dean messes up, he needs to know what he did wrong. He needs to learn...”

Bobby had kept out of it until now, but had to intervene. “Dean didn’t mess up John, and you know it. You had no business leavin’ them...”

“I’d left them plenty of times before, they were fine,” John replied, his voice raised.

“They weren’t fine,” Bobby yelled, exasperated. “It was pure dumb luck nothing had happened before...”

“Stop it!” Dean shouted, surprising them all.

Sam started to cry; John looked like he didn’t know whether to reprimand Dean or to slink out of the room like a dog with its tail between its legs. Dean stood, his face ash white, his hands clenched in fists at his side. Bobby pulled Sam into a rough hug.

“Perhaps you should go, John,” Bobby said, as calmly as he could.

John nodded once and walked out. He didn’t turn to see the tears running down both his sons faces, or the way they clung to each other, as Bobby released Sam from the hug and followed John out.

“You’re a piece o’ work, y’know that?” Bobby growled.

“Yeah, I do. That’s why they’re better off without me.” John shrugged. “And ‘bout that, just want to thank you for takin’ good care of them.”

“It’s a pleasure. They’re great kids,” Bobby replied, stiffly.

“Tell ‘em...tell them I said goodbye?” John asked and Bobby nodded, too angry to reply.

 

John wrote occasionally, but sent money regularly, so at least he hadn’t forgotten his boys, or stepped back from all parental responsibility. Bobby never spent the money; he put it in savings accounts for each boy.

Despite what Sam had said, Bobby knew the boy didn’t really hate John, he just wasn’t as close to him as Dean was. He still missed him, though, and wanted to see him, which was evident in the run up to Christmas in 1989. John had promised to turn up for Christmas Dinner and Sam had asked Bobby what he should get as a present for his Dad. Bobby recalled an amulet he’d been given by a woman in Tampa some years back, who said it was a protective charm, but he’d never gotten to wear it. He showed it to Sam and explained what it was for, and Sam said it was perfect. He insisted on paying Bobby for it by doing extra chores around the house, and asked Bobby to keep it a secret from Dean.

Dean had saved up the pocket money Bobby paid him for car washing to buy John a flannel shirt and work boots. He’d bought Sam the trilogy set of The Lord of The Rings – Bobby would’ve said Sam was a mite too young for them, but the boy had already devoured The Hobbit – along with a jar of Sam’s favorite gummy bears.

On Christmas Eve, John phoned to say he wasn’t going to make it, he’d picked up a trail for Mary’s killer and was on his way to New Mexico. He didn’t think he’d make it back to Sioux Falls until sometime in the New Year. John said to get the boys new clothes as his Christmas gift to them, and take them for a burger as a treat, he’d send the money. Sam cried, Dean looked devastated, and Bobby wanted to punch John.

On Christmas morning, they exchanged presents, and Bobby was touched when Sam gave the amulet to Dean.

“I-I got this for Dad, but as he’s not here I want you to have it, Dean. Bobby says it’s real special.”

Dean stared down at the small untidily wrapped package. “I can’t take it, Sammy, if it’s for Dad.”

“Dad lied to us. He promised to be here.” Sam looked at his brother with what Bobby called his ‘puppy dog expression’. “I want you to have it, Dean.”

“Okay, Sammy.” Dean opened the package and his eyes widened in surprise. He stared at the amulet and smiled up at Sam. “Thank you, Sammy, I... I love it.” Dean immediately put it around his neck. “I’ll never take it off, not ever.” Sam grinned so wide Bobby thought the boy’s face must hurt. Bobby stood up, muttering an excuse about getting more beer, but he surreptitiously wiped his eyes on his way out of the room.

Those boys were gonna break his heart, he was sure of it. Or make him grow girly parts.


	2. They Grew Up Great

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam grow up under Bobby's care with the occasional visit from John. Dean becomes a police officer and Sam goes to Stanford and falls in love with Jessica. It should all be fine - until Dean and Sam join up to hunt the woman in white.

"Hey, Bobby, what’s with the truck? It looks mint to me.” Dean surveyed the 1986 GMC Sierra Grande, running a hand lightly over the bodywork.

“It just needs a regular service, oil change, that kinda thing.” 

“You’ll make a pretty penny, she’s a fine-looking beast.”

“Yeah.” Bobby took his cap off and scratched his head. Dean watched him closely – damn, but that boy knew his tells too well. Thankfully he let the matter drop when Bobby threw him the keys.

“Can I take her out for a spin?” Dean asked, eager as a puppy. 

“Just on the local roads, you know the drill.” Bobby warned.

Dean had been driving since he was fourteen, after Bobby had applied for a minor’s permit for him. 

Bobby wouldn’t have bothered with all that paperwork crap, but he was responsible for these boys and wasn’t gonna do anything that could jeopardize them living with him. Dean was so excited, he loved cars and driving came as natural to him as breathing; he picked up the logistics in no time at all. Of course, Dean wasn’t allowed to drive alone, and Bobby gained some grey hairs sitting shotgun, as Dean was incapable of eating up tarmac without blasting out rock music. 

Bobby was sure he’d gotten a bit deaf, too, but it was worth it for the free test drives on his serviced vehicles, and to see Dean’s smile. He was always so happy behind the wheel; it seemed to be the one time he forgot to be the big brother, forgot to be worried about John, forgot to be as good as he could be for Bobby. Sam loved sitting in the back seat and would whoop and cheer as Dean perfected a donut or broke the speed limit on a quiet track of road. 

What Bobby couldn’t tell Dean was that he’d bought the truck for John. He wasn’t sure why John wanted to get rid of the Impala, and hoped John would ask him to keep her rather than sell her; Bobby knew how much Dean loved the old girl. John had asked Bobby not to tell the boys that he would be coming to pick up the truck. Bobby could see the logic, as they would get excited and anxious about him visiting, and if he failed to show up, they’d be disappointed, again. 

It was a surprise, therefore, when Bobby heard the sweet growl of the Impala on the morning of Dean’s sixteenth birthday. He’d gotten up early to bake Dean a chocolate cake; having two boys in the house had extended his culinary skills to include pies and cakes. He dusted off the flour from his clothes and headed to the front porch.

John climbed out of the Impala looking exhausted and grim, as usual. He was also sporting a busted lip and a black eye.

“Who’ve you been pissin’ off?” Bobby greeted him.

“Shape-shifter. Fucker had a punch like Tyson.”

“Truck’s round the back.”

“Thanks. How are they doin’?”

“You gonna stay an’ ask them yourself?”

“No, I just wanted to leave the Impala here for Dean.”

“You...what now?”

“I’m giving the Impala to Dean. He’s old enough to handle her now.”

“Well, he’ll be made up, no doubt about that. But John...”

“No, Bobby, I can’t.”

“Never knew you were such a fuckin’ coward.”

The porch door swung open and Dean was there.

“Dad!” He cried out, his joy overcoming his teenage need to be cool for the moment.

“Hey, son.” John’s face lit up with a wide smile. Bobby was sure it must hurt the guy to use those muscles, he so rarely cracked even the smallest grin.

Dean was down the steps and in John’s arms before either of them could think about it. Bobby was amazed how forgiving Dean was, after all the broken promises about visiting that John had made. 

John pushed Dean away to look at him. “You’ve gotten taller, an’ filled out. You must’ve been training hard.”

“I have, yes, sir,” Dean grinned, delighted with the praise.

“I want you to have the Impala, for your birthday,” John informed him. “I guess you can drive well enough now, and I expect you to treat her right.” 

Dean’s mouth dropped open in an ‘o’ of surprise and his eyes were wide with shock.

“Happy birthday, Dean,” John added.

“Dad...wow...thanks...” Dean wiped his hand across his eyes and Bobby felt his own smarting with tears. 

“I dunno what to say...I’ll take such good care of her...wow...”

The porch door swung open again and Sam stormed out. Sam saw Dean’s tears and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion.

“What’s he doing here?” Sam demanded, with as much scorn as a lanky, scrawny twelve-year-old could muster.

“Sam, your Daddy’s brought Dean’s birthday present,” Bobby said quickly, before the Winchesters started squabbling.

“Sammy, Dad’s given me the Impala!” Dean beamed at Sam.

“Humph,” Sam snorted disdainfully.

“Sam, behave,” Bobby hissed at the boy.

“Sorry, I mean, that’s great.” Sam managed to almost sound sincere. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

“Why don’t we all go in and have some breakfast,” Bobby suggested, trying to break up the now-awkward moment.

Dean looked torn for a moment and Bobby knew the kid was itching to get behind the wheel of the Impala, but wasn’t sure his Dad would stick around if he did.

“Dad, you’ll stay for breakfast?” he asked, looking eagerly at his Dad and noticing his bruises for the first time. “Fuck...I mean, damn, Dad, are you okay?”

“Just a run in with a shape-shifter.” John shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll stay for breakfast. And perhaps I could use your shower, Bobby?”

“Sure, mi casa es su casa,” Bobby nodded.

Sam was sullen at first, but seeing how happy Dean was to have John around for a while seemed to make him loosen up. By the end of their meal he was telling John all about school and the science project he was doing, and that he’d been elected to the school council. 

Bobby excused himself to finish up cooking Dean’s cake, leaving the boys with their Dad. He came back out a few minutes later to remind the boys to get ready for school.

“Can’t I stay home?” Dean whined. “I wanna take the Impala out for a drive, and spend time with you, Dad.”

“I tell you what, kiddo,” John offered. “You can drive to school in her, I’ll come with you and drive her back here, then bring her back to get you. How’s that sound?”

“Really? You’d do that? You’ll stay all day?” Dean asked, unable to hide his surprise.

“Yeah, I could do with some shut eye.” John smiled.

 

John slept until early afternoon, then had a shower. He found Bobby reading up on lore for a fellow hunter and told him he was leaving. Right now.

“Don’t do this, John,” Bobby pleaded. “At least get him from school. You’re gonna break his heart.”

“I didn’t intend to stay this long, you know that,” John said, defensively. “I wasn’t even gonna see him, just drop off the car.”

“I just don’t get you.” Bobby shook his head. “You have two fine boys right here; they love you and want to be with you, despite you dumpin’ them here years ago and barely seein’ them since. Can’t you give them a few more hours of your precious fuckin’ time?”

“You don’t get me, because you don’t have a fucking clue what I’m up against!” John retorted. “I’m doing my best to track down that monster, to protect my boys from him, and it’s better if I stay away, ‘cause I don’t even know if the son-of-a-bitch is tracking me.”

“But you’re here, right now,” Bobby replied. “Can you honestly say that a few more hours, even stayin’ a whole fuckin’ day, will make a difference?” 

John sighed and slumped against the wall. Despite the sleep he claimed to have had, he still looked exhausted and in pain. 

“An’ you’re injured. You should stay, just one night.” Bobby tried reasoning with him. “Pick the boys up from school, have dinner out with us, leave in the mornin’.”

“Whenever I leave it will be hard for them...for him.” John knew Dean would take it harder. “It’s hard for me, too.”

“I know. But you told Dean you’d pick him up from school. Don’t break that promise, whatever else you do or don’t do today.”

Bobby’s words worked and John kept his promise to drive the Impala to the school so that Dean could drive her home. Dean was all smiles when he climbed out of his car and he looked so proud Bobby wanted to give him a big hug right there and ruffle his hair. But that would be so uncool now the boy was sixteen, and in front of his Dad. Bobby swallowed down the feeling of hurt at how happy Dean was with the tiny bits of affection and attention John bestowed upon him. Bobby had been there, every day for the past six years, cooking their meals, helping with their homework, patching up scraped knees and listening to Dean moon over his latest love.

He knew Sam and Dean loved him; they were very affectionate, always free with hugs despite Bobby grumbling about them being too old for such nonsense and secretly loving it. They shared their confidences with him; they made him breakfast in bed on his birthday and on Father’s Day, and bought him small gifts, which always choked him up. But he’d never really be their Dad. It was stupid, because he had never expected to take John’s place – it wasn’t as though the man had died. Yet he couldn’t help the bubble of jealousy that surfaced whenever John came back into their lives.

 

They had dinner together and afterwards Bobby brought out Dean’s cake, festooned with sixteen candles.

“Make a wish, Dean!” Sam encouraged as Dean bent down to blow out the candles. Dean’s glance over at John was enough for Bobby to know what he was wishing. 

“Wow, thanks, Bobby, this is awesome.” Dean stuck his finger in the chocolate frosting and scooped it into his mouth.

“Hey, just ‘cause it’s your birthday, don’t forget your manners, kid,” Bobby admonished him.

“Sorry, Uncle Bobby,” Dean grinned, unrepentant, lips covered in chocolate.

“Me an’ Sam got ya something, too,” Bobby nodded at Sam, who quickly scurried out of the kitchen and came back with a large cardboard box; it was pretty hard to disguise the shape of the box’s content and Dean whooped with delight.

“A guitar, yes!” He laid the box on the table and opened it carefully, “Wow, it’s beautiful, thank you so much, Uncle Bobby, Sammy.”

“I helped choose it, and the book, too,” Sam explained, handing Dean a wrapped book.

Dean tore off the paper, “Led Zeppelin For Beginners” he read out, beaming at Sam. “Wow, thanks Sammy, I love it, it’s perfect, the book, the guitar…thanks Uncle Bobby.”

“Can you play, Dean?” John asked, and Bobby held back from saying “if you spent more time with your son, you’d know he can play”.

“Yeah, a bit, Bobby found an old guitar and fixed it up,” Dean replied, “but this is so much better, it’s all new and perfect an’ mine…this is the best birthday ever!” 

“Can you play somethin’ for me?” John requested, making Dean’s smile grow even wider.

“Sure, I’ll just tune her.” Dean picked up the guitar and strummed it a few times, then adjusted the tuning pegs until he was satisfied. Then he began playing a simple acoustic version “Stairway to Heaven” and singing along softly. Dean was so intent on playing the guitar he didn’t notice the tears in John’s eyes, which John quickly rubbed away. Dean got as far as “sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven” when he stopped. 

“That’s about all I know,” he was blushing, and also telling a white lie, because Bobby had heard him play the whole song through before, from his bedroom. However, Dean didn’t like performing in front of people, which was strange as he was generally very confident and charismatic. Whereas Sam, the shyer and more reticent of the two, loved acting in school plays. 

“That was good, son. I never knew you were so talented,” John smiled at him.

They spent the rest of the evening watching movies and eating birthday cake, popcorn and potato chips. Bobby let Dean have a bottle of beer, earning a sulk from Sam. He also let them stay up past their usual bed time, but by eleven o’clock they were both flagging and reluctantly went to bed, although Dean had to go outside and look at the Impala before he went. It was like he still couldn’t believe she was his. 

Dean hugged both Bobby and John, thanking them again for the best birthday ever. 

Both Bobby and the boys had been amazed that John had stuck around for so long, and even more amazed when he stayed for dinner. But no one was really surprised when they found he’d already left in the morning. There was a note thanking Bobby for his hospitality, and telling the boys he’d see them again as soon as he could. Dean was disappointed, but his spirits lifted as soon as he went out to say good morning to his Baby. 

“Can I drive her to school, Uncle Bobby?” Dean asked.

“Sure, kid. I know you’ll drive careful.”

“Thanks, I love you,” Dean blushed when he realized what he’d said. It wasn’t a cool thing for a sixteen-year-old boy to admit out loud.

“I love you too, kiddo,” Bobby ruffled Dean’s hair, adding, “now get gone, or you’ll be late.” 

“I’m gettin’ gone, old man,” Dean grinned. 

“You’d better, ‘fore I whup your behind,” Bobby grumbled, hiding a smile. 

 

It was a few years later when a letter changed their lives.

“Bobby, I did it. I got into Stanford!” Sam beamed, looking up from the letter in his hand. He had what 

Bobby called his full-on-dimples smile.

“That’s great news, kid,” Bobby smiled back and tried not to think about how much he’d miss him. And how much Dean would miss him, too. “I knew you could do it.”

“I can’t believe it… holy crap, I’m shaking!” Sam’s hands were trembling and Bobby guided him to one of the kitchen chairs. 

“Sit, before you fall down.” He poured them both a black coffee and added a shot of whiskey to them. 

“Drink this.”

“Thanks.” Sam grimaced at the first taste then grinned. “You do know it’s eight-thirty in the morning, right?”

“Yeah, well, it’s good for shock.” Bobby eased the letter from Sam’s hand to read it. He felt so proud of both of his boys, he could burst. Dean was away for a few weeks, training at the South Dakota police academy. He’d thought long and hard about whether to train to be a police officer, a firefighter or a Marine, and figured being a police officer fit best with his hunting background. 

“I wish Dean was here,” Sam sighed. “I’ll call him later - I can’t wait to tell him.”

Dean had been delighted when he heard the news, and insisted on traveling home that weekend although it was a two-hundred-mile round trip. “You know I never mind spending time on the road with my Baby,” he’d informed Bobby, “and we have to celebrate Sam’s news!”

Over the next few years, Dean visited Sam at Stanford whenever he could. Bobby had visited a few times, too, helping Sam move into a small apartment off-campus with his girlfriend, Jessica, in his third year. Sam always came home at Christmas, but stayed in California in the summer, working as a bartender and a surfing instructor, much to Dean’s amusement - my brother, the beach bum. Sam’s hair grew long and he sported a healthy tan, which always looked wrong in a Dakota winter.

 

It was all going well for Bobby and his boys – too well. He should’ve known things were about to change. 

It started with John going off grid and Dean getting increasingly anxious about going to look for him. He’d argued with Bobby, who had pointed out that if John didn’t want to be found, Dean stood little chance in finding him. And then Dean came home one day looking anxious but grim. Bobby realized with a start that his boy was a grown man now – whatever Dean had to say to him was making him nervous, but at the same time he’d already made his mind up.

“I’m taking a sabbatical for a year. I gotta go look for Dad, Bobby.” 

Bobby nodded. He’d expected as much. “What did you tell your chief?”

“The truth – kinda,” Dean grinned, obviously relieved that Bobby had taken his news well. “I told him my Dad had gone missing, that he had some mental health issues from PTSD, and that’s why you’d brought me and Sam up. And that I need to find him.”

“Well, that’s as close to the truth as it can be,” Bobby agreed. “But where are you gonna even start? It’s a pretty big country out there.”

“That’s okay, I got the best research team known to man or beast,” Dean winked, “that’s you, Sammy, and Ash at the Roadhouse.” 

“And we all just live to do your bidding,” Bobby drawled sarcastically.

“What can I say? I’m just too darned adorable to resist,” Dean smirked.

 

Sam was too caught up in exams to help much, and Bobby wasn’t sure how much he would’ve helped anyways, but between him and Ash, they found a trail of breadcrumbs for Dean to follow. Dean drove from small town to small town, always a step behind his Dad, it seemed. Then he came across an abandoned motel room where his Dad had been staying, working a case, and had left in a hurry. 

“Bobby, I think Dad’s picked up the trail of a Woman in White, in Jericho. I’m gonna swing by and see Sammy on the way there,” Dean told Bobby over the phone.

“Get your brother to go with you, Dean,” Bobby suggested. “I dealt with one a few years back, she was a handful; you could use the backup.”

“Dad might already be there,” Dean said, but sounded as doubtful as Bobby felt. 

“True, but do this old man a solid, will ya?” 

“Okay, Bobby,” Dean agreed and Bobby put the phone down with a sense of relief. He was so proud of his boys; they were smart, capable, strong and damned fine hunters, but he still worried about them. Knowing they’d have each other’s backs made him worry slightly less.

 

Bobby heard from Dean the next day; he had talked Sam into joining him, despite Jessica’s misgivings that Sam wouldn’t be back in time for an important interview on Monday. Sam had wanted to keep it as a surprise for Bobby and Dean – it was for a law school and if – when – he got it, he’d get a full ride.   
Bobby decided then and there to surprise the boys by meeting them in Stanford; he hadn’t been for a few months and it would be nice to take Sam out after his law school interview to celebrate – he knew the kid would ace it. He booked a flight, a rental car and a motel room, feeling a quiet excitement, and figuring he rarely took a holiday or spent any money on himself, except for his whiskey and antiquated books. 

The next phone call from Dean made Bobby wish he’d never given up smoking; Dean had been arrested for impersonating a federal agent. But Sam – yes, law school hopeful Sam – had faked a 911 call as a diversion so Dean could escape. 

Dean rang again to say Sam had actually driven the ghost back into the house she’d lived in - she’d killed her own kids there and they came for her, which, as Dean put it, was really fuckin’ creepy. He was in high spirits, full of how clever his little brother was – although he’d had to rescue his hide at one point – and how he was gonna kill him if his Baby was seriously damaged. 

Bobby didn’t tell him he was already on his way to Sam and Jess’s place, wanting to keep it a surprise. He pulled up outside later that evening and waited for them, as he knew they would be back any time now. He’d booked a motel for him and Dean, as Sam and Jess’s place wasn’t big enough for two extras. He didn’t have to wait more than twenty minutes.

The boys both looked exhausted when they climbed out of the Impala, but very happy to see him. 

“Bobby! What the hell…it’s so good to see you!” Sam was hugging Bobby hard in a matter of seconds, thumping him on the back. He pulled away, grinning widely. “Did you know?” he asked Dean.

“Nope, surprise to me, too,” Dean smiled. “C’mere, old man.” 

“Cheeky little bastard,” Bobby grouched but let Dean pull him into a hug, too.

“Why were you sitting outside?” Sam asked Bobby.

“Wanted to surprise you,” Bobby shrugged. “An’ it don’t look like Jess is in.”

The apartment was in darkness when they went inside. They followed Sam into the kitchen and he flicked on the light as he called out for Jess, but there was no reply. On the kitchen table was a pile of home-made cookies with a note “Missed you, love you!” 

“Aw, sweet!” Dean teased, reaching out for one and earning a slapped hand from Sam. 

“They’re mine, asshat,” Sam grumbled, adding, “help yourselves to beers, I’m just gonna change my shirt.” 

Bobby looked at Sam’s shirt and saw blood on it. “You injured?”

“Just a few scratches, Bobby, nothin’ to worry about,” Sam reassured him.

Bobby glanced at Dean for confirmation. “Yeah, turns out Sammy’s the faithful type, but the Woman in White still tried to rip his heart out.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Dean patched me up, it’s really nothing,” Sam grinned, taking a cookie with him and whistling as he left the room.

“You were right, Bobby, I couldn’t have handled her alone,” Dean said, as he wearily sank onto a chair at the kitchen table, gratefully accepting the beer Bobby handed him. “I was really pleased Sam was there, we made a great team.”

“No surprise there. You two have always had each other’s backs…” Bobby started to say, then a piercing scream filled the air, making both him and Dean freeze.

“Jess…nooooo…” They heard Sam scream and they were on their feet instantly. Dean got to the bedroom first, but Bobby could smell the smoke and feel the heat from the landing.

“Sammy, fuck, c’mon, we have to get out…”

“No! Jess…”

“It’s too late,” Dean yelled as he grabbed Sam’s shirt and hauled him out of the room. Bobby could hardly believe what he was seeing; Jessica – beautiful, vivacious, loving, happy Jessica – was burning up on the ceiling, and bleeding from a wound across her stomach. But Dean was right, it was too late to save her, she was probably dead before the fire started. At least he hoped to God she was. 

“Bobby, help,” Dean’s frantic voice broke through Bobby’s shock and he grabbed one of Sam’s arms. 

They propelled the struggling, screaming, sobbing boy out of the apartment. 

“Lemme go, I gotta save her! Jess, no, no…Jess…” Sam yelled, “Dean, let me go!”

“Sammy, it’s too late. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Dean was crying, his tears making tracks through the soot on his face. He pulled Sam into a fierce hug, and all the fight left Sam. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground, Dean half-falling, half-kneeling to hold onto his distraught brother. 

Bobby called the emergency services, then watched as the fire consumed Jessica and the home she and Sam had shared. He twisted his cap in his hands and wished he’d never told Dean to take Sam on the stupid fucking hunt. If Sam had been here, Jess might still be alive. But if Sam had been here, perhaps he’d be dead too. Bobby ducked down behind his truck and vomited. He knew it was shock from seeing Jess aflame and then the thought of how close he’d been to losing Sam. 

He wiped his mouth then rubbed his sore eyes, murmuring, “Get a grip, Singer. Your boys need you.”

Bobby didn’t recall much after that. He managed to get the boys back to the motel and coaxed Sam into showering. The boy looked lost and empty; he looked much younger than he was. Vulnerable in ways a six foot four trained hunter should never be. Dean didn’t look much better and as soon as Sam shut the bathroom door, Dean started to cry.

“It’s my fault, Bobby, I shouldn’t have taken Sam with me, I don’t even know why I’m wasting my fucking time looking for Dad. This is all my fault, I should’ve stayed at home, I should’ve…”

“If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine, Dean. I told you to take Sam along, remember?”

“Yeah, but…”

“No more buts. The thing that killed Jess is the only one to blame here, and if Sam had been home, it might have killed him, too.”

Dean’s horror-filled expression showed he hadn’t thought of that. “We both loved Jess, an’ we need to grieve; an’ no doubt we’ll be beatin’ ourselves up forevermore about her death, but we gotta keep it together for Sam. He’s gonna need us – need you – more’n ever.”

“I know,” Dean sniffed, wiping his eyes with the hem of his shirt. “Fuck, Bobby, this is…I can’t…” he took a deep breath. “It’s gotta be the same thing that killed mom. Dad needs to know.”

“Yeah, we’ll try all his numbers tomorrow.” Bobby sighed. “Right now, you and Sam need to rest.”  
Sam came out of the bathroom in a pair of Dean’s sweatpants that finished just above his ankle and one of Dean’s AC/DC t-shirts. Bobby was struck again by how very young he looked. His bottom lip trembled as he looked at them, then gazed at the floor.

“I thought…I thought it was a dream, tried pinching myself, it hurt,” Sam said, his voice broken by smoke and grief. 

“Sammy, I’m so sorry,” Dean moved towards him, but Sam carried on talking, not even looking up.

“But you’re here. In my dreams you were never here, so I guess it’s true…it’s true…she’s dead and I could’ve saved her, I should’ve saved her…” Sam sank to his knees again and began rocking, his hands reaching for his hair and pulling at it, then he was wailing, sounding like a wounded animal. Bobby had never seen such a visceral outpouring of grief. 

Dean was there, grabbing Sam’s hands so he couldn’t rip out his own hair, holding Sam tight and rocking with him. Bobby always carried some form of tranquilizer with him, you never knew when a shocked and grief-stricken victim or witness - or hunter - might need them. 

“Dean?” He shook the boy’s shoulder gently and Dean raised his tear-streaked face to him. Bobby held up a syringe. 

Dean nodded and Bobby grasped Sam’s arm gently, before plunging the needle into him. Sam was so far gone - keening, shaking, rocking - that he didn’t even notice. Bobby helped Dean drag Sam’s long body across to the bed and they hauled him onto it just as he passed out completely.

Dean collapsed on the bed next to him, and wrapped his arms tightly around his little brother, hunching his body protectively around him. He looked just as he had when he’d held Sam through childhood nightmares and illnesses, except there was a lot more of Sammy these days. Bobby knew Dean should probably shower and drink some water, but he also knew there was no way he was letting go of Sam. He’d be right there when Sam woke up. 

And so would Bobby.


	3. They Grew Up Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby received the call he's dreaded since the boys started hunting - Dean's badly injured. The demon closes in and Bobby makes a deal with Crowley.

It was the call Bobby had dreaded ever since his boys started hunting together. He knew it would happen one day - but knowing it was going to happen and having to listen to Sam’s broken sobs down the phone line was another matter. Bobby had never felt more useless in his life, and hadn’t felt this enormity of grief since Karen...

He had to pull himself together; Sam needed him. “Sammy, take a deep breath. Is he...is Dean...”

Sam took a deep breath and carried on more articulately, “He’s had...had a major heart attack. The...the doc says there’s noth-nothing they can do.”

An icy hand gripped Bobby’s heart and he had to take deep, calming breaths too. “Okay, okay, jus’ don’t panic, we can fix this, we know stuff the docs don’t.” 

“Yeah...yeah, I was kinda hoping you’d say that.” The relief in Sam’s voice made Bobby feel instantly guilty. He had no clue how to ‘fix’ Dean, he just hoped that somewhere in his books or among his contacts there would be a cure. 

“How the hell did it happen?” Bobby asked, confused. He knew they were after a Rawhead, so he couldn’t understand how Dean ended up having a frigging heart attack.

“We...we found two kids locked in a cupboard in a basement. The fuckin’ Rawhead came at us, Dean told me...” Sam took another deep breath to stop sobbing. “He told me to take the kids out, and...and when I went back, he...he was lying in a pool of water. Bobby, he was electrocuted when he killed it...”

“Holy shit,” Bobby groaned. 

“Bobby...the doc said Dean’s only got weeks...” Sam started to cry again and Bobby wanted to reach through the phone line and hug his boy.

“Sammy, he’s gonna be okay, you hear me?” Bobby could imagine Sam nodding. “I’m gonna find a way to fix him.” Bobby swore under his breath. It was so fucking typical of his luck that he’d badly sprained his ankle and couldn’t drive. “An’ tell him to be more damned careful in future.”

Sam made a noise that was half-sob, half-laugh. “I will, Bobby. And Bobby...I guess we should let Dad know. Could you...?”

“Sure, kid. You let me know when he wakes up, y’hear?”

“Yeah, of course, Bobby.”

Bobby put the phone down and did something he hadn’t done in years. He folded his arms on his desk, rested his head on them and let his tears fall. This was some fuckin’ nightmare. His boy just couldn’t be seriously ill; his wonderful warm heart couldn’t be so badly damaged it was failing him. Bobby regretted all the times he’d told him to keep the noise down, to stop fidgeting, to stop yakking. He’d give anything to hear AC/DC blasting from Dean’s room, or to hear him chattering away about his day, his friends, his latest girl, the latest action hero movie.

He pulled himself together and picked up the phone. He was so angry with John for going AWOL for the past few months that he didn’t want to tell him about Dean – if the man cared about his sons he’d at least contact them more’n twice a year. But he knew he should, he had to. He did put it off for a while as he rang Pastor Jim, Caleb, Rufus...anyone he could think of. They were all sympathetic and said they’d do their best to help. None of them had a definitive cure though, although Rufus knew of a hoodoo priestess in New Orleans who was said to be able to raise the dead. 

Bobby poured himself a large whiskey and dialed the last known number he had for John. “Hey, John. Not sure if this number’s even workin’ but I gotta tell ya... I’m sorry, but it's Dean. He's sick, got injured on a hunt. It’s his heart...and the docs say there's nothin’ they can do. But they don't know the things we know, right? So, don't worry, cause I'm gonna do whatever it takes to get him better. Call me when...if you get this message.”

 

Bobby spent the next few hours poring over some of his books, and waiting - longing - for the phone to ring, to hear Sam telling him it wasn’t as bad as they thought. 

When Sam finally called, Bobby almost passed out in relief. “He’s awake, Bobby, grouchy as hell and complaining that the nurses aren’t hot.”

“Gimme the phone, asshat,” Dean’s voice called out.

“Dean?” Bobby tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice. “How ya doin’?”

“Feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train. Other than that, I’m good.”

“You’re a friggin’ idjit, y’know that?”

“Yeah, guess so. But the monster’s dead, the kids are safe.”

“An’ that makes it alright?”

“What can I say? It’s the nature of the job.”

Bobby knew Dean was putting on a brave face, so he resisted the urge to rant down the phone at him. “I’m gonna find a cure, Dean,” he vowed, hoping to God he could. 

“That’d be...awesome.” Dean’s voice cracked a little, betraying his emotion. 

“Bobby?” Sam took over. “Any news?”

“None so far, kid. But a lot of people are lookin’, and we’ll find something.”

“Oh...okay,” Sam’s disappointment weighed heavily on Bobby.

“It’s only been a matter of hours, something’ll turn up,” Bobby promised.

 

Something did turn up, the very next day. Bobby had already had to referee on the phone between the boys, as Dean had discharged himself from the hospital and was back at the motel with a very pissed off Sam. So when a hunter he’d met once in Reno told him about a faith healer, his natural skepticism was somewhat lessened by his need to save Dean. Seemed this guy, Roy Le Grange, was as real as a deal could be. He’d cured people with terminal illnesses, and made the blind see, the deaf hear and the lame walk. The weird twist was that the guy was blind – and not able to heal himself. 

Bobby knew he was grasping at straws, but this was their only option. He rang Sam and told him of the ‘specialist’ in Nebraska. Sam was so eager to get going, he almost hung up before thanking Bobby, who imagined Sam hurriedly packing their things and bundling a protesting Dean into the car. 

Bobby couldn’t settle to anything and would have paced the floor if not for his injured foot; thankfully it only took a day for the boys to travel to Nebraska and he received the phone call he’d been longing for. 

“Bobby, it worked!” Sam announced. “Le Grange is the real deal; he laid his hands on Dean and healed him.” 

“Thank God...” Bobby chuckled in relief.

“Sammy, lemme speak to him,” he heard Dean’s voice in the background, sounding upset. 

“Dean, why can’t you just chalk this up as a win?” Sam asked.

“I told you, there’s something off about it...” Dean retorted. 

“Boys,” Bobby interrupted, “can one of you tell me what in hell’s going on?”

“Le Grange called me to the front of the friggin’ tent, laid his hands on me and I felt...cold and strange,” Dean explained. “I fell to the floor and when I looked up, there was a creepy old guy standing next to Le Grange. He stared at me for a moment, then just vanished.”

“But you’re cured? You’re well?” Bobby had to clarify that fact. 

“Yeah, gonna get checked over at the local clinic, but I feel great. Except for a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.”

“It’s great news, Dean. I can’t tell you how fuckin’ relieved I am.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Dean sighed. Bobby kinda wished the kid was happier to be alive. 

 

Turned out Dean had been right, although it wasn’t Le Grange that was ‘off’ but his wife. She had found a spell to trap a reaper and use its power, using it to help her husband "heal" people, and to kill those she believed were immoral in their place.

Dean was angry with Bobby and Sam for making him go to Le Grange, and felt guilty that some guy had died instead of him. Sam was guilt-stricken, too, but also relieved. As for Bobby...well, Bobby had never felt so conflicted. Yes, some innocent guy had died to save Dean, and he did feel guilty about that, but he couldn’t deny that he was so fucking happy that Dean was okay. 

And he couldn’t deny that he’d do it again if it meant saving one of his boys; the things he was willing to do for them scared him sometimes. But they were his boys; he’d done his best to raise them right, to give them a good life after the crap hand fate had dealt them. He’d do anything for his boys. 

 

Finding the Colt had been a major success for Sam and Dean. It was all thanks to Miss Missouri Moseley, and a hunter named Daniel Elkins, who had successfully hidden the gun for years. He’d been reluctant to part with it, but Missouri could be very persuasive.

The boys had spent the past few months hunting, while looking for their Dad, and had saved a lot of people in the process. Bobby was concerned when John suddenly reappeared, asking for Dean and Sam to meet him; he said he was closing in on the demon and needed the Colt. He explained his long absence by saying he was keeping the demon away from them; Dean was relieved, Sam was pissed, but they both knew their Dad had to have the Colt to kill the demon. 

Bobby had a gut feeling that things were gonna go south, so he packed a bag, climbed into his truck and headed out to meet his boys. The location John had chosen to meet his sons was an old hunter’s cabin in the wilds of rural Missouri, and that alone made Bobby nervous.

“That’s a real out of the way place, Dean,” Bobby had said, when Dean told him.

“I know, but Dad said we need to choose somewhere safe to meet,” Dean explained. “He said he’s closing in on the demon, and it’s possible the bastard might be on his tail, too. An’ he wants to be ready to face him, he doesn’t wanna be unprepared.”

“Okay...” Bobby sighed. “Right, you take care, kiddo.”

“You know careful’s my middle name, Bobby,” Dean replied.

“Nah, your middle name’s idjit, ya idjit,” Bobby retorted, wishing he felt happier about this whole family reunion. 

Bobby knew he was probably being overcautious. Perhaps he was a little jealous; John had barely been there for his sons in the past sixteen years, yet he was the one the boys – okay, just Dean – got so excited about seeing. Despite all the broken promises and missed visits, Dean still needed his Dad, still wanted to see him, still needed his approval.

Bobby sighed and turned the radio on, and soon Willie Nelson’s voice was filling his truck. He sang along, his voice even more raspy and growly than ol’ Willie’s, but it took his mind off things for a moment. He pulled in for gas and called Dean.

“Hey, Bobby, what’s up?” Dean asked, sounding cheerful.

“Just wanted to check in with you. Are you there?”

“Yeah, I left a message on your home phone.”

“Ah, right, I’m not home right now...”

“Dad’s here, Bobby, an’ he thinks the demon’s close. We’re gonna nail the bastard!”

“That’s...good,” Bobby conceded, “I’m on my way.”

“Really?” Dean sounded pleasantly surprised. “That’s great, we’ll probably need all the help we can get. We’re gonna trap him, then shoot him,”

“You make it sound so simple,” Bobby smiled, admiring the optimism of youth. 

“Well, knowing our luck it won’t be, but simple plans are usually the best, aren’t they?”

“True,” Bobby agreed. “Listen, kid, I’m a few hours out, so hold yer horses ‘til I get there, okay?”

“I can’t promise that, Bobby. If he shows up, well...”

“Sure, I get it,” Bobby sighed.

 

He wished he had a faster vehicle, or that transportation system from Star Trek, so that Scottie could beam him right-the-fuck there. 

When he finally arrived, it was past midnight and he climbed out of the truck, happy to stretch his weary limbs. As he approached the cabin, he heard shouting and screams.

He ran to the door, hearing Sam yelling and Dean screaming in agony; he flung the door open into a nightmare scenario. John was holding Dean against the wall – Dean was in a bad way, covered in blood from his chest and his mouth, and Sam was pinned to the opposite wall, struggling against the invisible restraints. It took Bobby’s shocked mind a minute to catch up.

“Bobby... it’s him.... it’s the demon!” Sam shouted, just as John turned to face Bobby, his eyes glowing yellow. He released Dean, who crumpled to the floor, barely conscious. Bobby wanted to run to him, but he saw the Colt lying on the table and picked it up before the demon could react.

“Nice move, old man,” the demon sneered. “You gonna kill me, kill your boys’ real Daddy? Betcha wanted to do this a lot of times over the past years. Betcha can’t wait to be their only one and only Daddy. Betcha can’t wait to do it now – but will your boys forgive you?”

“Shut your mouth,” Bobby growled.

“Not to worry though, Sammy clearly hates Daddy dearest, and Dean...well, Dean’s not gonna be around to miss him, so shoot away.”

“Bobby...no...” Dean begged, and Bobby may have given in, except that John flicked his wrist at that moment, lifting Dean’s battered body up off the floor, then slamming it down. Dean fell heavily and was no longer conscious – Bobby prayed he was still alive.

Bobby aimed for John’s shoulder, hoping to get the demon and not kill John. The shot rang out and John fell to the floor. Black smoke billowed out of his mouth as he screamed, but it swirled around the room, unable to escape from the warding etched into the cabin’s timbers many years ago by a cautious hunter. 

Bobby started to recite the incantation to send the demon back to hell, when John screamed.

“Kill it, Sammy, kill it.” 

Sam was on his feet, grabbing John’s journal and flipping it open, then started to recite an incantation Bobby had never heard. The demon’s essence writhed and shook like it was in pain; it screamed and wailed, then burst into a million tiny pieces before vanishing.

“Fuck me, it worked!” John muttered, already crawling across the floor towards Dean’s too-still body. “Dean, hey, Dean!”

Sam was by Dean’s side in seconds, checking his pulse, “He’s still alive, but he’s losing so much blood. Bobby, please...” Bobby was touched by Sam’s faith in him.

“Lemme see, son,” he said, kneeling by his oldest boy’s body.

“You gotta save him, Bobby. I could see it, feel it, hear it all...” John was crying – Bobby had never seen the man cry before.

“Sam, see to your Dad’s wound, I gotta work on Dean. There ain’t any reception out here, we’ll have to patch them up and get ‘em to the nearest hospital.”

Sam looked reluctant to leave Dean, but Bobby coaxed him. “I got this. An’ Dean’ll kill you if you let your Daddy bleed to death.”

Sam gave a startled, shaky laugh. “That’s so inappropriate, Bobby.”

“Yeah, sue me, college boy,” Bobby was already assessing Dean, but he couldn’t see an obvious external injury, just five gouge marks on his chest. He guessed it was mainly internal. “Crap, crap, crap,” he muttered. 

“Bobby?” Sam sounded worried.

“I can’t see where all the blood’s coming from,” Bobby explained.

“He was kinda reaching inside his chest, pulling the blood out through his skin...” John informed them.

“Balls,” Bobby cussed, wrapping Dean’s chest as tightly as he could with bandages from the – luckily well stocked - first aid kit he’d grabbed from the shelf. “That fucking son-of-a-bitch. C’mon, we got no time to lose.”

They got John to his feet and out to the truck, then carried Dean out to the Impala, laying him gently on the back seat.

“You gonna be okay to drive, Sammy?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, wiping his tear-streaked face with his hands and squaring his shoulders. “I’m good. Gotta get him safe.”

 

The nearest hospital was a forty-five minute drive and Bobby was tempted more than once to pull over and dump John’s fretting, whinging ass on the roadside. The man was hardly making a lick of sense, but then he said something that made Bobby’s blood freeze.

“Sammy’s safe now, whatever that yellow-eyed bastard had planned for him, it’s over...”

“What d’you mean?”

“Azazel, he was plannin’ on using Sam or one of his other psychic kids to open the Devil’s Gate...”

“John, what the fuck? Can you start from the beginning here?” 

John sighed. “I trapped a demon a while back, who told me a little bit about Azazel’s – that’s yellow eyes name – plan to raise an army and bring back Lucifer...”

“Lucifer? As in...”

“Yep, the real deal. Satan, the devil, old Nick. You know about the nursery fires?”

“Yeah...” Bobby admitted. “Ash found connections between some kids that had gone psycho, and their mom’s all died in nursery fires when they were six months old.”

“Does he know?” John asked, anxiously. Bobby knew who he meant.

“No, Sam doesn’t know. I didn’t know what it meant myself. And all he’s had so far have been dreams an’ premonitions. I ain’t told Dean, didn’t wanna freak either of ‘em out.”

“Good, that’s good. He doesn’t need to know.” John ran his fingers through his hair. “When Azazel was inside me, he was goading me, telling me how much he’d enjoyed killing Mary, killing all the other mothers. And...and how he’d bled into Sam’s mouth, into all the babies’ mouths, giving them some of his power.”

“Holy fuck...that’s why Sammy’s had those dreams?”

“Yeah. Could’ve been worse, as you know.”

“I just hope his powers have died with him.”

“Me too...” John shifted and tried to hold in a pained moan.

“We’re nearly there,” Bobby glanced at John, who was looking very pale. They’d entered the outskirts of Jefferson, thankfully. 

 

Once they got to the hospital, it was a whirlwind of nurses, doctors, and so many questions, about what had happened, how Dean had been so badly injured. All Bobby could do was tell them the story he’d concocted, that Dean had been attacked by a bear, and when Bobby had shot at the bear, John had got injured in the crossfire.

Dean was whisked off to ICU, his heart and lungs were damaged and he needed a blood transfusion. The doctors were stumped, they’d never seen anything like it and said it was like something had reached in and sucked the blood from Dean’s major organs. It wasn’t looking good for Dean.

Bobby, John and Sam tried to come up with a way of saving him and the only thing Bobby could think of was making a crossroads deal, trading his life for Dean’s. And he was more’n happy to do so. 

He didn’t tell either Winchester of his plan, he told them he was going to get some air.   
At the nearest crossroads, Bobby hastily buried his photo and waited few minutes. A short guy in a suit appeared. 

“Bobby Singer, well, as I live and breathe. Or not,” The demon grinned. “This is an unexpected pleasure. I don’t usually carry out these deals myself, but when I heard it was you...well, I had to seal this deal personally.”

“Balls, does this mean I gotta kiss your ugly mug?” 

“Afraid so, sweetie. That is, if you wanna save poor Dean’s life?”

“Wouldn’t be here for no other reason. Can you do it?”

“Can I do it?” The demon looked offended. “I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Crowley, King of the Crossroads. And I can do any-bloody-thing I like.”

“Very impressive, King Crowley,” Bobby growled, then thought he’d better stay on the oily git’s good side. “So, how does this work? We kiss and I get ten years?”

“Ten years? You are joking. You’re a hunter, a major pain in the ass. And sweet baby Dean is also a fucking hunter. Why would I want to do either of you any favors?”

“You’re the crossroads demon, you have to make a deal.”

“True, but there’s no way you’re getting ten years, grandpa.”

“Okay, five years.”

“No way, Jose.”

“Tell me what you’ll give me, oh King,” Bobby drawled sarcastically.

“You get to say your goodbyes. Dean has a miraculous recovery. Then you die.”

“No way. My boys need me,” Bobby protested.

“Your boys? Last time I checked, you’re just the poor sap they were dumped on.”

“Listen here, Mr. Fancy Pants. I adopted those two boys, and they grew up great, they grew up heroes. I was there for them, through it all - their childhood illnesses, their teen tantrums, their first dates…”

“Okay, okay, enough with the sob story.” Crowley sighed. “One year, you can have one year. It will give you time to put your house in order, so to speak. And I hated that smug git Azazel. But there’s one extra proviso.”

“Yeah?” Bobby asked cautiously.

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice spoke from behind Crowley, and Bobby was surprised to see a messy-haired trench-coat wearing guy standing there.

“Who the fuck are you?” Crowley asked, turning to face the man.

“I think you know,” the stranger said. “And you know there will be no deals, no provisos.” 

“Oh bloody hell.” Crowley’s face paled, then he disappeared.

“Hold yer horses, buddy, I needed that deal,” Bobby grumbled.

“No, you do not. Your actions earlier today were...unexpected, Robert Singer. You have saved Dean Winchester from his fate, along with that of his brother.”

“Who the hell are you?” Bobby asked the guy. “How’d you know my name?” 

“My name is Castiel, I am an angel of the Lord.” 

Bobby would’ve laughed in the guy’s face, but something about the sincerity of his blue eyes and the way he held himself, like he wasn’t used to being in a human body, made Bobby believe him. “Well, I ain’t met an angel before, I’d be more pleased but that deal was Dean’s last hope…”

“Dean is alive and well,” Castiel informed him.

“What? How...when…”

“I have healed him. He is tired and will need to rest for a few days.”

“Thank you, I guess.”

“You will not believe this until you see Dean,” Castiel tilted his head to one side to regard Bobby for a moment. “Very well.” He reached out and touched Bobby’s forehead; suddenly the world spun worse than the Tilt-a-Whirl Bobby had been on once at a carnival. But it was over in seconds and he was back in the hospital, in a waiting room with a startled John and Sam.

Bobby swallowed down the feeling of nausea that riding the angel Tilt-a-Whirl had given him to focus on Sam, who looked pale but was grinning. “Hey, boy,” he managed to say before Sam threw himself into his arms. “Whoa, you tryin’ to knock me over?” Bobby grumbled, but hugged Sam tight. 

Sam huffed out a laugh as he released Bobby. “Sorry, but it’s Dean...they’re calling it a miracle; they’ve made us come out while they check him over. He’s awake, Bobby, he’s awake…”

Sam was crying now, and Bobby felt his own eyes sting. “Thank God...thank you, Castiel,” Bobby turned around to thank the angel, but he wasn’t there.

“Who’s Castiel?” John asked. 

“He’s…” Bobby paused, unsure what to tell them. 

Just then a doctor came in, smiling and bemused. “Well, you’ll all be pleased to know that Dean is fine.” He scratched his head. “He’s completely healthy, we don’t understand it. He had lost so much blood...perhaps our initial findings were incorrect...yes, that must be it.”

“Don’t worry too much, doc.” Bobby patted the guy’s shoulder. “We’re just pleased he’s okay.”

“Yeah, can we see him?” Sam asked eagerly.

“I’d like to see you try an’ stop him,” John added, smiling at Sam.

Dean was sitting up in bed, looking exhausted, but he smiled at them as they came in.

“Hey, it’s the Three Stooges,” he remarked.

“Dean, wow, I thought...I thought we’d lost you,” Sam whispered, like he was afraid to speak and break the spell.

“Nah, it’ll take more than some yellow-eyed son-of-a-bitch to kill me,” Dean quipped, but Bobby could tell he was putting on a brave face. “C’mere, sasquatch.” 

Sam managed to cram his large frame onto the bed next to Dean and wrap his arm around him, smiling so wide his face was basically teeth and dimples. John held back, leaning heavily on his crutches. 

“Dad, fuck, your leg...shouldn’t you be in bed?” Dean asked.

“I’m good, but I’ll sit if that’s okay.” John looked sheepish.

“Why wouldn’t it be...oh,” Dean frowned, “look, it wasn’t you, okay?”

Bobby felt immensely proud of Dean right then and wiped the hot tears that had sprung to his eyes. Dean noticed, of course.

“Hey, Bobby, thank you,” Dean held out a hand to him and Bobby took it. “Wow, you... you saved me, and you killed the demon. You’re a goddamned hero…” Dean peered at Bobby. “No… fuck, Bobby what did you do?”

“What d’you mean?” 

“If it wasn’t you...one of you did it, didn’t you? One of you made a fucking deal to save me, and you shouldn’t have, you…” Dean stopped mid-rant, his green eyes impossibly wide. “Castiel…”

Bobby turned to see the angel standing behind him.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said in his solemn manner.

“Who’s this guy? How’d he get in?”

“It’s okay, Dad. I think he healed me. I remember choking on my own blood, an’ real intense pain...then nothing, until I saw ol’ blue eyes here smiling down at me.”

“This is Castiel, he’s an angel,” Bobby explained, still barely able to believe it.

“I have been watching over Dean since before he was born,” Castiel looked at John, “and I was meant to save him, just not yet. Bobby did something we did not expect, and saved you all from your destinies.”

“Bobby, is this true?” Dean asked. 

“I just did what I had to, to save you boys.” Bobby shrugged, embarrassed.

“I must go now, but Bobby, you were right in what you said to Crowley, these boys have grown up great, they have grown up heroes, thanks to you.”

Castiel turned to John and touched his forehead lightly. “You are a hero too, John Winchester. You have saved many people and will continue to do so, but you need to be fit.”  
John blinked his eyes and ran his hand over his leg. “Holy shit…” 

“I do not know what the future has in store for you, Dean, but I will continue to watch over you, and I will be there should you need me again,” Castiel said, then was gone before they could react. Dean started to cry; Bobby knew it was the shock of all that had happened to him in such a short space of time. Sam pulled him into a hug and Bobby motioned for John to follow him out of the room.

“Let’s leave them get some rest,” Bobby whispered, “heaven knows they need it.”

They walked in silence to the hospital cafe, both lost in thought. Over bitter coffee, John broke the silence.

“So, Crowley, eh?” he raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve heard of him?”

“Yeah, King of the Crossroads. I tried to summon him once, heard he might have his grubby little hands on the Colt,” John rubbed his chin. “You were gonna make a deal.”

“Damn straight,” Bobby nodded. “An’ I’d have gone ahead with it, if I had to.”

“I know we ain’t always seen eye to eye, Bobby, but I gotta say thanks, for every-fucking-thing. You’ve raised my boys, you’ve saved their lives. I dunno how I can ever repay you.”

“I don’t want anything from you, John, except for you to remember you have two amazin’ sons, and to get to know ‘em, spend time with ‘em.”

“I can do that,” John smiled, “I guess now the demon’s dead, I got some time on my hands.”

“You gonna carry on huntin’?”

“Yeah, not much else I’m cut out for anymore. An’ as the angel said, I can do some good, save some people.”

 

Within the year, Dean had gone back to the Sioux Falls police department, and soon made friends with Deputy Sheriff Jody Mills. Sam returned to Stanford, but not to study law. He decided to study history and anthropology, with occult studies as a specialism; his research was already proving invaluable to many hunters. Both boys helped Bobby - and John - out on hunts whenever they could. 

Bobby was so proud of his boys, his heroes.


End file.
